


The Crying Boy

by etoile_etiolee



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Haunted House, Horror, Hurt Jared, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, ghost - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 11:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1816180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoile_etiolee/pseuds/etoile_etiolee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the 2014 Reversebang on Livejournal.</p><p>Jensen Ackles' journalist career has hit an all-time low.  He's ready to jump on whatever story that could make an interesting article.  Come along student-journalist Jared Padalecki, who might have found a legitimate haunted house.</p><p>Beta work by firesign10<br/>Inspired by expectative's art work</p><p>Disclaimer: None of this is true</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Crying Boy

Jensen Ackles clears his desk, packing everything into a cardboard box while the few employees still hanging around at this hour observe him silently. He’s not uneasy about it. He doesn’t regret his decision; in fact, he's never been so sure of anything in his life.

“Fuck this shit,” is his goodbye to the mostly empty newsroom.

It’s not like there is any future in traditional newspapers anyway. Jensen has a blog on the net that is starting to take off, and lately he’s been able to get more money from the ads he places there than he was earning at the paper. He also works freelance for a couple of sites, and one in particular seems very interested in using him as a regular columnist. He prefers living on Ramen and Hot Pockets to letting his boss humiliate him the way he did.

Twenty-seven years old, living alone in a narrow apartment, out of a “real job”, as his father would say -Jensen guesses he doesn’t have much in common with the teenager dreaming of becoming the next Bob Woodward that he used to be.

That’s life. You grow up, become an adult and everything seems duller, less vivid. You start off as a young and enthusiastic journalist, and five years later you’re still working for the same local newspaper, wondering why you’re not writing for the Washington Post already.

…And then your boss bites you in the ass, and it’s like you have to start from scratch all over again.

Jensen tries not to be bitter. He’s a practical kind of guy, very cerebral (downright boring, his ex-boyfriend had yelled at him as he packed his stuff one year ago). He can make this work. The first thing he’ll do will most definitely be to write an entry on his blog that establishes the truth about the damn Cedar Park article. Half of it is already written in his head including a lot more swear words that won’t make it to the final cut.

It’s raining when Jensen exits the building. By the time he reaches his rusted car, he’s soaking wet, he can’t see shit through his glasses, and he _is_ bitter –is he ever.

::: :::

Jensen’s not the kind of guy that likes to work in public places, like coffee shops or restaurants, but after a couple of days without getting out of his apartment, he’s about to go nuts.

He packs his laptop and puts on a jacket. His parakeet start chirping at him like it’s angry to be left alone. 

“Shut up,” Jensen groans, but then he feels guilty and slides a finger through the cage’s bars to caress the bird’s head. In return, the feathery jerk pecks furiously at his fingertip. “Well, fuck you too,” Jensen retorts before grabbing his set of keys.

Jensen’s plan is to walk to the small library-slash-coffee shop at the corner of the street. It’s only a ten minute walk, but it’s enough. He doesn’t feel like freezing his ass off in the cold autumn air.

He barely has time to walk down the two steps leading out of his building when a man literally jumps in front of him, making him take a step backward. The guy is tall and somewhat scrawny, with too-long limbs and shaggy hair; he can’t be more than in his early twenties.

“Jensen Ackles, right?” he asks nervously.

Jensen wonders if he should be worried. The guy is clean, looks pretty much like a college student, and the expression on his face is so inoffensive that Jensen decides not to turn on his heels and start running right away.

“Yes. Who are you?”

“Yeah. Hum, sorry. Jared Padalecki.”

Jared something-ecki stretches out one hand toward Jensen, holding a black thin case close to his body with the other. Jensen shakes it.

“What’s this about?”

“I, huh… I might have a story for you, if you can give me five minutes.”

Jensen lifts an eyebrow and thinks a little. He can’t allow himself the luxury of passing over a potential news story, not now. The truth is… he hates Ramen noodles. 

“Tell you what, Jared. I was heading to the library nearby to do some writing. They serve coffee there as well. Want to come with me? We'd be more comfortable to sit and talk there.”

Jared's smile is adorable, lighting up his whole face. And he has dimples. _Jesus._ Jensen looks at him and tries to guess if there is a possibility that he's gay.

“Thank you, thank you so much,” Jared babbles. “Big fan of your work.”

Jensen’s already raised eyebrow tries to get even closer to his hairline.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’m studying journalism at the community college. I had to do a paper on a local news journalist and I picked you.”

“Oh.”

The possibility of having a crazy fan is as much worrying as it is farfetched. Jensen is suddenly very glad not to have invited the guy up to his apartment.

On the way to the library, Jensen learns that Jared Padalecki -it's Polish, apparently- is twenty two, going to graduate at the end of the school year and that he wants to travel the world to report injustices. He’s so naïve that it’s somewhat charming. Jensen learns a lot of other things too, because Jared is nervous and can’t seem to stop talking. How it got to the subject of Jared’s awesome dog or the fact that his cousin Krissy is dating a shady guy, Jensen doesn't even know. He just nods, walking at a quick pace, his hands shoved in his pockets.

They sit facing each other, place their order, and while they're waiting, Jared stops talking suddenly and his face takes on a serious expression.

“I know I can’t shut up. 'S like… I’m trying to delay what I want to tell you as much as I can. Man, I didn’t know what else to do. You gotta help me.”

_Here it comes,_ Jensen thinks. He looks around him and checks if there’s a clear path between him and the door. Just in case.

Path clear.

“Just tell me, Jared.”

“So…” Jared takes his iPad out of his bag and start playing with it, like he’s looking for something. “I… I like photography as much as I like writing, and sometimes I’ll wander in town just to take some pics. Places I see every day that I don’t even notice anymore and… you know…”

Right.

The waiter brings their coffee; Jared’s mug is topped with whipped cream and chocolate powder. Somehow, Jensen is unsurprised. This kind of drink just fits the guy.

He lets his black coarse French roast cool down by blowing on it while Jared goes on. “So last week-end, I end up in this street I’ve never been before, near Hillside Road, and there is this house. The exact address is 128 Briar Street.”

Jared turns his iPad toward Jensen. The image is one of a visibly abandoned house –and by the look of it, it's been so for quite some time. It’s a two story Victorian house with a dormer in the middle of the roof. The paint has obviously been gone from the exterior walls for quite some time, but small areas are still sporting some whitish, peeled-off patches. The courtyard is a mess of long wild grass, and a dead tree with twisted branches looks like it’s about to fall on the left side of the house. The creepiness of the place is emphasized by a rusted iron fence with pointed tips.

“Okay. Creepy place. So, what happened? Did you see someone shady going in or-“

“No,” Jared cuts him off. “I heard someone cry.”

“What?” 

“I heard someone crying. It was… it sounded like a little boy crying. Ginger was with me and-“

“Who’s Ginger?”

“My dog, remember?” Jared seems a little disappointed that Jensen didn’t get the dog’s name from his inconsistent monologue earlier.

“…Right.”

“So, Ginger started to bark and tried to run to the house, pulling on her leash. I was wondering if maybe a kid from the neighborhood could have hurt himself while exploring the house, so I went to have a look.”

Jared pauses and lowers his eyes, playing with his coffee mug without drinking.

Jensen waits all of three seconds. “So?”

“There was no one there. I followed the cries. They were coming from a room on the second floor. At least, that’s what it seemed. When I opened the door, there was no one there, and it’s strange because the cries stopped the second I pushed the door open.”

“Oh.”

Jensen takes another look at the house photo. He knows where this is going, and suddenly, he regrets the whole being-friendly-to-stranger-with-a-potential-new story, however cute his dimples might be.

“Listen, Jared,” he starts.

 

“It doesn’t make sense, I know, and I’m… I don’t believe in supernatural stuff, but this house, there was something about it. I felt it, man. My dog felt it too.”

“You heard someone crying. Maybe it was coming from another house nearby and-“

“No. It was coming from there. And, huh, I took a picture in this room.” Jared’s face is growing pink with excitement and insistence.

Damn it.

The next photo is of what used to be a kid’s bedroom. There is a bed frame and a stained mattress lying on the floor next to it, a couple of toys lying around, and what’s left of a wall hanging featuring jungle animals.

“What am I supposed to look for?”

 

“Look under the bed.”

“What?”

Jensen pushes his glasses back up his nose and bends toward the computer screen. He sees something under there, like a bundled-up dark comforter or blanket. Or it could be a piece of clothing, maybe even a shadow. Or something photoshopped by a college student seeking attention.

“I know what you think,” Jared says quickly. “It could be anything. Except it wasn’t there when I took the picture. The space under the bed was empty. And it looks… it looks like a kid curled in on himself, right? Listen, I couldn’t get this out of my mind after I left, and the noises I heard, the smell of the house… a sickly smell like rotten meat. When I closed the front door on my way out, I swear I heard something like a cry of despair and… and I saw someone looking back at me from the window of this same room.”

Jensen’s anger rises up a notch. _Really?_

“Jared. Do you realize what you’ve just told me is like… every cliché in haunted house stories. Why did you come to me with this?”

Jared looks at him, a mix of surprise and awkwardness written all over his face. “But your article… about the Cedar Park ghost-”

Jensen shakes his head, sighing, and pushes the iPad back toward the young man. “You didn’t read my blog yesterday?”

“…No. I…”

“If you had, you would have known that the damn article was a bust. I did some research after a couple of joggers swore they saw a white figure looking at them from within the woods, but I came to the conclusion that it was bullshit. Those two joggers were together when they pretended they saw the ghost. They told everybody that they weren’t the only ones, that it was a common thing. I… my boss sent me there, and when he read my article, he didn’t like it. Told me that people like ghost stories, that it would sell, but I refused to change a single word. Well, he went ahead and did it for me, added a whole paragraph at the end bullshitting about the possibility of the ghost being real. I quit, Jared, because that wasn’t me and I’m not a freaking paranormal investigator. Because ghosts don’t exist.”

Jensen drinks the rest of his coffee in one swallow and gets up, putting his vest on. Jared looks at him, cheeks red and eyes wide. “I thought… I’m not into supernatural things either, but I thought… Listen, I did some research about this house and-“

“And I don’t want to know. You… If you really think the house is haunted, then you write an article on it, for your college paper or whatever.”

With that, Jensen grabs his laptop bag, turns on his heel, and walks out of the library without looking back.

::: :::

The problem is, Jensen is a damn journalist. Not just according to his diploma, but it is something that runs through his veins, an instinct he can’t just turn off. That evening, when he settles in his bed with his kindle to do some reading, he can’t concentrate. All he thinks about is Jared Padalecki’s hopeful face slowly shifting to disappointment. _This isn’t journalism instinct, Jensen. It’s your libido talking. You thought he was cute. Doesn’t mean he’s right. Or gay._

Of course it doesn’t mean he’s right. Sighing, Jensen puts his kindle away and puts his laptop on the nightstand. He sits up, canting his back with a couple of pillows, and opens his internet browser.

Finding information about the house is easier than he thought it would be. Typing _Briar Street, Manchester_ , he finds a whole lot of newspaper articles dating back to September 1984. Sure enough, reading through them, he finds out that there had been a tragedy there. The house had been inhabited by the Thompson family: father, mother, and two sons. On the night of the 17th, Lee Thompson had apparently lost it and shot his wife, Heather, and their older son, Eddie. For reasons unknown, Thompson preferred to strangle his youngest, Rory, with his bare hands. Then, Lee had disappeared. The police had found him in a motel two states over a week later, but before they could arrest him, Lee Thompson had shot himself with the same gun he’d used to kill Heather and Eddie. The reasons as to why Lee snap remained unknown. 

The family had been a happy one, according to their relatives. Lee had had a fulfilling job as a science teacher in the town high school, but he always was very reserved, and no one had noticed anything different about him in the weeks preceding the murders. There had been no other woman. As for his wife, Heather, she was working part time at the hospital’s cafeteria and she too seemed happy. She wasn’t seeing anyone else either. The case had remained a mystery.

Tragic, of course, but those human dramas happened. It was sad, but it didn’t mean the house was haunted.

“Because ghosts and spirits don’t exist, you moron,” Jensen admonishes himself. 

There was another article, dating from spring 1987. It was a short news story about the house that Heather Thompson's sister, Jenny, had inherited. She had been unable to sell it, despite lowering the price on a regular basis. She’d told the journalist that people who visited it often felt sick while inside; some of them had the impression that the air was too thick, that it was harder to breathe. Jenny Stone was desperate to get rid of the house where her sister had been murdered.

Why would people felt like they were choking? Was this how Rory, the six year old Thompson boy, had felt when his own father had strangled him? And…

 _Okay, stop. Right now_. 

Grunting, Jensen closes his laptop cover with way more strength than necessary.

He has trouble falling asleep, and when he does sleep, he dreams of empty spaces and someone calling his name desperately.

::: :::

“This is stupid.”

This important declaration made, Jensen climbs the steps leading to the front door. The house looks even creepier now that he's facing it, even with the sun shining through the trees. He may be stupid, but not enough to visit the house at night-time. All perceptions are distorted at night, and Jensen has no intention of scaring himself to death.

He checks the flashlight one last time and pushes the front door open. It creaks loudly. Stepping inside, he feels the heavy smell of mold, humidity and accumulated dirt invade his nostrils. He sneezes a couple of time, the noise echoing in the empty house.

“Okay,” he murmurs, clearing his throat. “Okay, so far, nothing unusual.”

Jensen lasted two days after his meeting with Jared Padalecki before deciding that the best way to get the whole thing out of his head was to check the house himself. Not that he believes he’ll witness anything supernatural. He just wants to… wants to forget about all this and go back to his normal life.

His normal, deathly boring life.

Jensen sniffs and starts his slow exploration of the house. The ground floor has a bathroom, a kitchen, a small dining room, a living room, and a storage space. There is a heavy layer of dust on everything, spider webs hanging from the ceiling. Most of the furniture is gone. The walls are eaten by mold and rot. This can’t be healthy, Jensen thinks, still beating himself up for giving in to his new-found obsession.

Sighing, Jensen goes back in to the lobby to climb the stairs. So far, no sound of a boy crying, and if Jensen does feel like the air is thicker than usual, it’s probably because of the dust.

Each and every step creaks under his feet. Jensen doesn’t trust the railing and makes his way slowly, afraid of the instability of the old construction. What if he falls through a rotten wood plank, just like in the movies? That would be the most humiliating thing ever, having to explain to the people coming to his rescue why he was there in the first place.

He’s halfway through the stairs when he hears it.

_No._

A child is crying. It’s feeble, comes and go just as if carried by the wind, but it’s definitely real.

And it’s coming from upstairs.

Jensen’s first reaction is to call: “Somebody there?” Then, cursing under his breath, he shakes his head, amazed by his own credulity. “Jared? Listen, man, this isn't funny at all.”

Of course, the only answer he gets is the sobs of the little kid –a boy, sounds like a boy, or is it only because Jared Padalecki suggested it? 

There doesn't have to be someone there. This could just be a record playing.

Except it doesn’t make sense. If Padalecki had decided to play him, how would he have known that Jensen would be stupid enough to visit the house, or when he would decide to do it.

 _Okay, time to get this over with_ , Jensen decides suddenly, climbing the rest of the stairs hurriedly.

It’s darker on the second floor. Jensen listens carefully and looks around himself. There are four different doors, two on each side of the hallway. 

_Please…_

Did he just hear the child pleading? What if… what if Padalecki is some kind of psychopath who kidnapped someone and got Jensen into this because he gets off on the publicity… or whatever. Jensen isn’t a psychopath. He doesn’t know how one would think.

Over the course of one second, he considers calling the police and waiting outside for them without going any further.

_Yeah, sure. You came to investigate a haunted house. Heard a kid crying and ran outside instead of trying to find him. Nice job._

But then again, there is no child in this house. Jensen is almost persuaded there can’t be. The soft cries are coming and going like a distorted echo. It’s…

“What the hell,” he murmurs, and then, because he’s a rational guy, Jensen tries once more. “Anybody here? You okay, kid?”

_…don’t hurt me…_

It can’t be real. The voice is too far away, yet at the same time, it’s like it is coming from Jensen’s mind.

Trying to be practical –and because patience isn’t one of his virtues- Jensen shoves away any thought that doesn’t make sense and opens the first door to his left , which is the one where noise seems to be –sort of- coming from.

According to Jared’s picture, it is the child’s room. Jensen sees the bed frame, the tapestry on the walls, the soiled mattress. 

There is no one there. No one has been there for a long time. And the noise is gone; not merely faded, but completely gone.

“What the hell?” Jensen murmurs, walking up to a closed door that must have been the boy’s closet. 

He opens it without questioning himself and isn’t surprised to find it empty, except for a couple of old G.I. Joes, dirty and covered with… yeah, rat poop.

Gross.

Jensen takes another look around the room. He remembers the picture Jared showed him, the one with the supposed hidden ghost under the bed frame.

There is nothing there, not even an old crumpled comforter or piece of clothing. Doesn’t mean anything. Padalecki could’ve put something there himself before taking the picture. Jensen sighs and takes his cell phone out of his pocket. Now that he doesn’t hear the cries anymore, it’s easy to convince himself that they were never there to begin with.

Except they were. 

Yeah, well, maybe they were coming from outside the house.

Jensen takes a picture of the space under the bed frame and is about to shut his phone down, when something catches his attention as the photo uploads on his screen.

What the…?

He feels his heart freeze in his chest and his bladder seems awfully full suddenly. He looks at the spot, which is still empty, then takes another look at his phone.

The photo is wrong. Because there is something under the bed, a dark, crumpled form. Could be… this almost could be… a kid curled in on himself.

“No,” Jensen declares in a stubborn voice.

He takes another picture.

This time, the form has a different shape. It’s unfocused, dark, nothing can really be defined. But it looks like someone crawling. From under the bed. Because the thing on the picture had moved. Toward Jensen.

He swallows back a sudden nausea and takes a step back, can’t resist the morbid temptation to take yet another picture.

The form is now halfway across the room, all stretched out, like one of the hands wants to grab Jensen before he leaves, and if it’s moving this fast, it means...

 _It means that it should be right in front of you by now_ , a cold, logical voice suggests to Jensen.

He doesn’t really remember leaving the room, or running down the stairs and reaching for the door.

It won’t open. _It never does in movies, remember._

That’s what does it. Jensen practically takes the rotten wooden door out of its frame in his haste to open it. He runs to his car, knowing what he must look like but not really caring, not caring at all, as a matter of fact. Fuck, what if the dark shade followed him outside, what if it…

“Stop thinking, you moron, and get the hell out of here,” he growls, climbing into his car.

It’s a euphemism to say Jensen has trouble sleeping that night. He doesn’t sleep. At all.

::: :::

God bless the internet. A couple of clicks and Jensen finds the only Jared Padalecki in Manchester. It’s a cell phone number. Jensen looks at it for a very long time, his comforter wrapped around his shoulders, shivering in the cold morning. A sleepless night. It hasn’t happened to him since… ever. It never happened to him, and for some reasons, this gets him even angrier at Jared. 

_He can’t have anything to do with it and you know it. How could he have hacked your cell phone without even having the number, or any of your information?_

_Shut up_. Sometimes, Jensen’s logic pisses him off.

It’s barely six in the morning, not a decent hour to be calling someone, but hell, it’s all this guy’s fault anyway. Cursing, Jensen dials the number and waits.

On the fourth ring, a very sleepy voice answers.

“Chad, man, it’s too early for whatever crap you need to-“

“It’s Jensen Ackles.”

There is some shuffling at the other end of the line, a couple of curses. “Hey, hum… Jensen.”

“Listen to me, Jared. Whatever you did to this house, it won’t work, okay? I’m not biting. How did you know I would go there and-“

“Wait, what? I don’t understand, I… you went to the house?”

“Of course I went to the damn house, I’m a journalist!”

“I didn’t do anything to… you heard it? The little kid crying, you heard it, right?” Jared asks in a frenzy.

Jensen sighs and takes off his glasses. He feels a headache coming on. The kid isn’t lying, he’s too sincere, in his surprise and confusion. Anyway, Jensen had never really believed Jared had anything to do with what happened at the house. He’s still pissed at him, though, even if only because Jared spoke to him about the house in the first place.

“You heard him?” Jared repeats, his voice full of a desperate hope.

“I… heard him,” Jensen admits, and damn it, it hurts saying something that goes against anything he’s ever believed. “Okay, this is crazy but I have something to show you, Jared. Could you meet me at the library?”

“I can be there in half an hour.”

“Whoa, hold your horses, Scooby Doo. It isn’t even open yet. Eight o’clock.”

“I’ll be there.”

::: :::

“So, you’ve seen him.”

“I… don’t know what I saw.”

Jared smiles nervously, turning his coffee mug in his hands. Jensen clears his throat and readjusts his glasses. “I’m… listen, I’m sorry I walked out on you.”

“It’s okay,” Jared murmurs, blushing slightly. “If I’d read your blog, I never would have bothered you in the first place.”

“What…” Jensen stops, scratching the back of his head. His cell phone is still in his pocket; he doesn’t know why he’s so reluctant to show the pictures to Jared, unless it's because he’d have to look at them again and he’s not sure he’s ready to face this craziness just yet. Okay, maybe he does know.

“Did you do some research about the history of the house?”

“Yes, the Thompsons? I’m guessing the ghost-“

“I did not say it was a ghost.”

Jared rolls his eyes. “I’m guessing the… unexplained phenomenon must be Rory, the youngest boy.”

“Why?”

“Because he was only six when he died –five years younger than his brother, Eddie. The cries, they’re-“

“Ones of a little kid,” Jensen finishes, shivering despite himself.

“Plus,” Jared adds, lowering his eyes. “This room where I thought the voice was coming from, it was his room. According to the police report-“

“Wait, police report?”

Jared smiles nervously, dragging a strand of hair behind his ear. “I study journalism, you know. I’m curious…”

Jensen can’t help but smile in return because hell, those dimples, even when speaking about something as sad as a murder, those dimples are…

“…Was the last one to die.”

“What?” Jensen tunes back into what Jared's saying.

“Rory. Listen, Thompson killed his wife first, in their bedroom, then the eldest boy who was in the hallway came running to see what had happened. According to the police, Rory must have been hiding under his bed. That’s where his father found him. He dragged him out of there and he strangled him.”

“Jesus.”  
“Yeah, must have been… God. He was a baby, you know?” Jared murmurs, his beautiful eyes shining with tears all of sudden.  
“Why didn’t he use the gun? Thompson, I mean. He freaking ran away with it, there were still bullets in the chamber.”

“I don’t know. I… Jensen, show me what you’ve got, alright?”

Jensen’s hand shakes while he opens his cell to the first photograph. He hands it over to Jared and tries to retell everything he did while he was taking the pictures as clinically as possible.

“Oh. My God. That’s… he's crawling. He was crawling toward you,” Jared whispers, voice trembling with fear. 

“Looks like it.”

“We have to go back.”

Jensen chokes on his mouthful of coffee, just like in a bad comedy. “Why?”

“He’s suffering, he’s asking for help. He probably doesn’t understand what’s happened to him, doesn’t understand he’s dead and-“

“And, and what? You want us to take a priest with us? Bless the freaking house? Jared, this is real life.”

“I can’t,” Jared says, like he just apologized for something.

“You can’t what?”

“I can’t just leave him out there. I think he would have reached for me that day, but Ginger must have scared him.”  
Jensen can’t believe they’re actually arguing over a ghost like it’s nothing. He is scared –that, he isn’t afraid to admit to himself. He wants to forget the house, forget the Thompsons and delete the pictures off his cellphone –damn it, he wants to get a new phone. Just throw this one in the first garbage can he passes.

“This is crazy,” he tells Jared with intent. “This –whatever that was, this was coming toward me. How can you know it didn’t want to hurt me?”

“He’s a little boy-“

“He’s dead, Jared! Fuck, he’s been dead for the last twenty-five years. You’re not going back there.”

Jared lifts his chin. “Then why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you call me back to show me those pictures, Jensen?”

Jensen groans in frustration over dealing with the stubbornness of the younger man. “Because I wanted to make sure I wasn’t crazy… and I felt bad for treating you the way I did last time. Listen, I’ve checked and this house, it’s never swallowed anyone. No mysterious disappearance or death in the neighborhood since 1984. Whoever buys it will have to have it torn down completely and rebuild on new foundation. Then whatever is huh… wrong, will crumble away with the rotten wood and it will be over.”

“Oh, because that’s how it works? You don’t have anything to base this on, and I can’t be comfortable with the fact that maybe this kid’s spirit will wander for eternity, crying, calling for help. The fact that there were no disappearances or strange incidents proves that this is not a malevolent ghost.”

“I see. Now you’re the expert.”

Jared holds Jensen’s gaze, his lower lip jutting out a little. “I don’t need you to come back with me. I can do this alone.”

“Do what, for god’s sake?”

“Try to communicate with the boy. Try to give him peace.”

“Are you some kind of fundamentalist religious freak? Because you sound an awful lot like one.”

“I’m not sure there is a God and frankly, for now, I don’t care. I’m just… I felt it in the house. Rory’s sorrow. His fear. It’s kept me up at night ever since, and I can’t let it go.

There is something pleading in Jared’s voice. Jensen wants to get mad at him, but he can’t. He feels the need to watch out for him, instead. Somehow, Jared is very emotionally involved in this and he won’t let go. The kid seems intelligent, maybe a little too passionate. He will make a great journalist some day but for now, Jensen thinks his rational side is a necessary balance.

“How do you suggest we proceed?” he finally asks, then sighs as loud as he can.

::: :::

“A freaking ouija board,” Jensen mumbles for the third time in a row, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Hey, I told you, you don’t have to come with me.”

“Well, I’m not going to let you go alone to try and… cleanse the house, or whatever it is you have on your mind.”

Jensen glances quickly at Jared who’s perfectly still in the passenger seat, his bag pressed against his chest. He’s nervous.

“Say, Jared. Why are you so invested in this? And why me? I mean, don’t you have any friends you could have shared this with?”

“I…” Jared clears his throat. “I don’t have a lot of friends. I’m not that good with people.”

“Are you kidding me? You kind of stalked me to tell me your story.”

“Well, it’s not the right way to interact with people, I’ve been told,” Jared half jokes. “There is Chad, but… he laughed at me so hard I thought he was going to faint. And Chad’s an ass. Turn right.”

“I know. Been there, remember? But you didn’t answer all of my questions. Why are you-”

“Invested, right. I don’t know. 'S just…” Jared shrugs. “I could ask you the same question: why are you coming with me? I’m a stranger to you.”

 _Because you’re young and a bit naïve and I’m falling head over heels for your stupid face,_ Jensen wants to answer. Instead, he mimics Jared and shrugs. “As you said, I called you back to show you the pictures. I feel I’m responsible.”

“There.”

Jensen has to bite his lips not to repeat _I know_ in an annoying tone. He slows down the car and parks on the side of the road, just in front of the Thompsons’ house. It’s noon, but there is no sun that day; heavy, dark clouds announcing rain are gathering in the sky, pushed against each other by the wind.

“So,” Jensen keeps his hands on the wheel and takes a deep breath. “We go in, climb to the kid’s bedroom, and try to summon his spirit or whatever with the board.”

“I bought some sage candles. It’s supposed to help.”

“Okay, let’s just hope we won’t set the house on fire,” Jensen’s laugh sounds pitiful, even to his own ears.

“We won’t,” Jared says, his hand on the door’s handle. 

“Wait.” Jensen grabs his arm. “Let’s… I want you to promise me something here, Father Karras.”

“Yeah, what?”

“If anything goes wrong and huh… I say it’s time to get out, we get out.”

“Alright.”

“You know, I can’t believe we're having this conversation. I can’t believe we’re actually going to try and communicate with a…”

“Ghost.”

“Yeah well, I’m still trying to get this word out of my mouth without laughing at myself.”

::: :::

The house is eerily quiet, and seems even darker than the other day. They both have to turn their flashlights on as soon as they step inside. The thick air seems even worse than the first time, like it’s actually heavy enough to put a weight on Jensen’s shoulders. He starts walking up the stairs first and the cries begin when he’s halfway up.

 _What the hell do we think we are doing here?_ Jensen sighs. He’s slowed down his pace without noticing. He’s not scared yet, but it’s coming. He can feel the hair on his arms rising up. 

“He knows we’re here,” Jared whispers behind him.

“He’s a spirit. Of course he knows,” Jensen answers as quietly, like it changes something.

The same thing that had happened to both of them previously now repeats itself. Once they’re in the child's room, the cries stop.

Jared gets a LED lamp out of his bag and settles it on the floor next to them, while Jensen does his best to clear the dirty floor. He casts nervous glances around himself, but keeps his cellphone in his pocket. He doesn’t want to see. Not now, anyway.

Jared sits on the floor, wincing as he crosses his legs, and puts the ouija board in front of him. After a moment of hesitation, Jensen follows. This… this is all kind of crazies. Still, he surprises himself when he suddenly snaps his fingers. “Hey. You forgot the sage candles.”

“Right. Sorry.”

The candles smell even before they’re lit. The two small candle holders are barely sitting straight on the rotten floor. _Careful with the fire,_ Jensen reminds himself, looking at the small flame Jared lights on both candles. 

“We’re ready,” he says, serious and calm. “We put two fingers each on the plastic planchette, but without applying pressure. Then we concentrate, try to empty our minds, whatever works. I’ll speak to the ghost. If you feel the planchette moving, don’t try to push or help it. It should move by itself.”

“Jesus, Jared, it’s like you’re an expert or something.”

Jared blushes. “That’s how it works in movies.”

“Wow.”

“Don’t… don’t make fun of me, alright?” There is something very hurt in Jared’s soft voice and Jensen immediately feels bad. 

“I’m not. It’s just… this whole thing… I’m way out of my comfort zone.”

“I know.”

Jared puts his two index fingers on the board’s planchette. After a second, Jensen does it too.

Something strange happens almost immediately. The cries pick up; they’re very weak and, for a second, Jensen is sure they exist uniquely in his mind, until he looks at Jared and sees his eyes are wide with surprise. 

“You can hear it, yeah?” Jared whispers.

Jensen nods.

“See? He wants to communicate with us,” Jared adds. “Okay, let’s concentrate.”

Easier said than done. There is no way Jensen is closing his eyes in this room where things crawl on the screen of his phone, where sobs seem to come and go from another dimension. Still, Jensen lowers his eyes on the board and tries to remain calm, to let every thought that crosses his mind go without trying to catch them. He’s so focused that he jumps slightly when Jared’s voice breaks the silence.

“I want to speak with the spirit of Rory Thompson. We don’t want to hurt you in anyway, Rory. We want to help.”

The cries stop. The flames of the candles quiver as if a soft wind is blowing on them.

Jensen’s fear comes back with a vengeance. He takes a deep breath and fights the sudden urge he has to take his fingers off the board.

“Rory?” Jared asks. “Are you here with us?” 

The plastic planchette doesn’t move slowly like in the movies. No. It suddenly flips on itself and breaks in two. Jared gasps and pulls back, his eyes so wide he looks like an anime character. Jensen is frozen in place. _We gotta get out, we gotta get out of here, gotta get out_ –the same thought repeats itself again and again in his mind but he doesn’t move, his mouth gaped open, his heart thundering in his chest.

“Oh god, oh god, he’s coming toward me!” Jared breathes out, pushing himself back until he hits the wall.

There is nothing in the room, nothing in the direction Jared is staring in. 

“I don’t see anything, what’s happening?” Jensen stands up on shaky legs and takes his phone out of his pocket. He looks in the screen but doesn’t see anybody other than Jared staring to his left, in the direction of the bed. He takes a picture.

“I want to help you, I just wanna help,” Jared says in a shaky voice.

The picture appears on Jensen’s illuminated screen. 

_Jesus._

There is the crawling form again, less than a foot away from Jared. Jensen can see two small white hands planted on the floor. “Jared, we gotta get out of here.”

“It’s okay, it’s alright.” Jared stretches a hand toward whatever is coming him, and this is wrong, so very, very wrong. Jensen finally snaps out of his dreamy state and literally jumps on Jared, taking him by the arm. 

“Come on, man, it’s-“

“Leave me alone!” Jared moans painfully, and in the same moment, an electric current seems to go through his body, transferring into Jensen's body and throwing him back on the floor where he falls hard on his ass.

Jared’s body crumples on itself, then straightens suddenly. He looks around him, his lower lip shaking, then pushes his legs up against his chest and wraps his arms around them. “Mommy,” he cries in a tiny voice.

This isn’t Jared. Jensen doesn’t need any proof to understand this. Everything is wrong and strange with him. And the thing crawled. Crawled toward him. And Jared _let it in._

_What am I supposed to do?_

“Momma,” Jared repeats, swallowing hard. 

It’s the thing… the crying thing. The boy.

 _Rory. Right._ Jensen tries to slow down his breathing.

“Rory?”

“Yeah, want my mommy,” Jared sniffs. “S’dark an’ cold and I want my mom.”

“I…”

This is pure madness.

Jensen rises on his knees and gets a little closer. “Your mommy is not here. What do you want?”

“I wanna say m’sorry,” Jared/Rory hiccups, bursting into tears.

“Why? Why are you sorry, kiddo?”

Jared’s shoulders shrug. “Daddy’s mad. I knew and I didn’t tell.”

“Hey… it's alright, don’t cry, Rory. How do you know your daddy’s mad?”

“He… he said not to tell!”

Jensen sighs. The fear and confusion in Jared’s eyes is heartbreaking. “You can tell me. Your daddy’s not here. He can’t hurt you.”

“I lost my tooth,” Jared finally lets out on a whimper. “And I wanted to show Dad and –and- and… I went in the basement ‘cause he was fixing the… the pipes and-“

Jared hiccups and drags his hand under his nose. “He had a gun like in the movies and I n-n-never saw one before and he told me, he told me it was new and it was for mom because she’d been bad.”

_Oh. God._

“Rory. Were you scared?”

Jared nods so hard his hair falls in his face. “Yuh- yeah. Mommy wanted to take him to the doctor ‘nd daddy didn’t wanna go ‘cause he wasn’t sick, but he was, he was, he was!”

“What kind of sick?”

“Eddie said sick'nthehead and I don’t know what it means, but Eddie said Dad whu-was messed up and heard stuff and… and… He didn’t wanna go to the doctor.”

“Hey, okay, it’s okay. You’re safe, Rory,” Jensen murmurs. 

Without thinking, Jensen touches Jared’s knee and pats it softly. Jared cries harder. The electric current Jensen felt before is gone. 

“He said not to tell n’I didn’t and he said good boy, go to bed and I went to bed, but I was scared and then… then… BAM!”

Jared/Rory claps his hands together, moaning in fear. “…’nd then Eddie screamed real loud and BAM! BAM!”

Jared is shaking all over, crying uncontrollably. By this point, Jensen figures it’s better to let Rory tell his story and wait for whatever will happen next.

“You hid under the bed, right?”

Jared nods, pointing the bed frame with a shaky finger. “Bhu-but daddy found me and he took me in his arms and he had red stuff over him and it was blood and… and I said the gun scared me and I said I been a good boy and didn’t tell and daddy sat with me and he sang to me. Take me out to the ball –game…” Jared croaks, biting his lips hard. “And he said, he said that I was right and I didn’t tell and I was his little angel and he hugged me and he was hugging too hard and then he… he put his hand on my throat and I couldn’t breathe anymore.” 

“You’ve been a very brave boy, Rory.”

“No!” Jared snaps, hitting his head against the wall. “No! I didn’t tell and he hurt mommy, he hurt Eddie. 'S my fault… Please, mommy, dad’s hurting me, I can’t breathe, I don’t feel good…”

“Rory. Hey, Rory, sport, look at me.”

Jared’s ragged breathing calms down a little. He listens to Jensen and lifts his eyes. “It’s not your fault, okay?”

“I’m sorry, mommy, that I didn’t tell. Sorry, Eddie. I whu-was scared. 'M sorry, it’s all dark and cold and 'm alone…”

“You can go, Rory. You can go and find your mommy. You don’t have to stay here.”

Jensen, who’s never been religious, not at all, who's lived with the mantra that seeing is believing, is suddenly sure that somewhere whatever’s left of Rory’s mother does wait for him, for the imprint of his little boy’s sorrow to leave this in-between place.

“I should’ve told,” Jared repeats. He’s not crying anymore. He looks exhausted.

“No. This is not your fault, do you hear me? You didn’t do anything wrong. Your daddy was very, very sick, and you are just a little boy who’s trying to be good, right?”

“I try to be good,” Jared repeats.

“And there is a lot of adult stuff little boys can’t understand. What happened to mommy and Eddie is not your fault.”

“I…”

“Hey, can you repeat it? Just for me. Say it: it’s not my fault.”

Jared shrugs and sniffs. His answer is almost inaudible. 'S not my fault.”

“That’s right. Everybody knows none of this was your fault. You don’t have to stay, Rory. You have to let go.”

“I don’t know what that means!” Jared/Rory protests.

“I think you can do it, even if you don’t understand. Just think about your mother and brother. They know you did the best you could. They’re not mad at you. No one is mad at you.”

“No one is…” Jared trails off.

Then his body collapses forward. There is no flash of light or smoke rising in the air, no signs that anything happened at all. 

Jensen shifts into action: first, taking a picture of Jared’s immobilized body. He waits impatiently for the result, having already checked that the young man is still breathing and coming back to himself.

There is nothing unusual on the image. Jensen shakes Jared’s shoulder and whispers his name.

Jared blinks, tenses all over and put both of his hands in front of him, like he wants to brace himself against something. 

“Jared? 'S that you?” Jensen keeps a soothing voice.

“Yeah I… yeah,” Jared croaks. “He’s gone.”

“Rory?”

Jared nods, looking around. “I mean, really gone. I can feel it, Jensen.”

“Then you did it,” Jensen smiles at him, still careful not to upset Jared. He seems too shaken up to endure any kind of stress right now. “What do you say we get the hell out of here?”

Jared smiles a little sadly. “Good idea.”

Jensen puts back everything in Jared’s bag, than helps the younger man stand up. Jared’s legs are shaking badly, and he’s pale, but with a little support from Jensen, they make their way down the stairs and out of the house.

It has started to rain and the air smells good, fresh. In the car, Jared can’t stop shivering. Jensen grabs a blanket he keeps on the back seat and gives it to him. 

“Thanks,” Jared mumbles.

“I’m taking you home, alright?”

“Yeah.”

Jared gives his address to Jensen. It’s in another part of the town entirely, but Jensen doesn’t mind. During the first ten minutes of the ride, neither of them talk. Jensen feels drained of his emotions. He doesn’t question what has happened, just concentrates on the road.

It’s Jared that breaks the silence, finally. “So, huh… Thompson _was_ dealing with mental health problems, despite what had been said.”

“Well, maybe it was just starting. Families are good at keeping secrets, you know.” Jensen shrugs. “You remember everything?”

“Yeah. This… this is not an experience I want to repeat any time soon.”

“Possessed by a little boy,” Jensen smiles, relaxing a little. “It really does seem like we’re in a bad horror movie.”

“He was so scared, Jensen. He really thought it was his fault. He needed to tell someone how sorry he was.”

“Yeah, I figured that much. So what now, we… huh… broke the curse? Sent the kid’s spirit back where it belonged, whatever that means.”

Jared shrugs. “At least that’s how I felt it when he left my body. He never really understood he died that night.”

“His father was a sick bastard. It’s like he rewarded Rory by strangling him instead of shooting the kid.”

“Maybe in his mind, he really did him a favor,” Jared sighed. “Guess we’ll never know.”

“You do realize, Jared, that you just completely changed my whole perception of the world?”

Jared really smiles then, dimples and bright eyes on full force. “Sorry.”

“No you’re not,” Jensen smiles as well, kind of wants to caress the man’s cheek, which would be totally inappropriate.

“You did good, Jensen. With the whole… talking with Rory through me thing. When I felt him merging with my mind, my last thought was… damn it, Jensen is going to run and/or call 9-1-1.”

“Are you saying I’m a coward?” Jensen half jokes.

“No, 'f course not. But you were so determined not to believe in any of this. You couldn’t even say the word ghost.”

“Ghost. There, happy?”

Jared tilts his head backward and starts laughing. It’s a great laugh, very contagious. Later, when Jensen thinks back on this day, he’ll always remember Jared’s laugh as the precise moment he fell for him.

Jared’s grandmother lives in a modest but nice neighborhood; the house is small, freshly painted in white, and there are flowers everywhere. Jensen parks in the alley.

“So, you’re sure you’re alright?” Jensen asks while Jared folds the car’s blanket neatly on his thighs.

“Yeah, just tired.”

Jensen is about to ask if it could be possible, maybe, for them to meet for a nice meal later and talk about something else than dead crying little kids and haunted houses when something crosses his mind. His journalist mind.

“Hey, Jared?”

“Yeah.”

“Why… Why did he choose you? Rory, I mean. We were both there, holding on to the Ouija board’s planchette and he choose you.”

“Maybe because I really wanted to communicate with him? Maybe he felt it?”

“Yeah…” Jensen trails off. This leads him to another question he didn’t get any answer for. “But you were so adamant to do this, to help him. As a journalist, I can understand your curiosity, but what we did won’t lead you to write an article or… you told me you never believed in the supernatural before.”

Jared shifts on his seat, his cheek getting redder by the second.

“Maybe I had personal motives,” he whispers.

“Oh. Well, you don’t have to-“

“My father used to hit us when he drank,” Jared cuts Jensen off. “Me and my mom… When she knew he was in a bad mood and had had too much whisky, she would send me to my room to protect me.”

“Jared, really, you don’t-

Jared smiles, swallowing back his tears. “No, it’s alright. In the end, we left him, came to live here with granny. My father died in a car accident five years ago. I hadn’t seen him in years. Anyway, I used to hide under my bed when I was very young and he was throwing a temper tantrum. I guess… I guess that’s why I could relate to Rory, and him to me.”

“I’m so sorry, man.” 

“You don’t have to. It’s all behind me now. My mom is doing great, you know. She’s travelling a lot, writes those tourist guides that are so popular amongst travellers. She’s in Norway right now.”

“And you?” Jensen asks softly.

“Me? I’m good. My granny feeds me way too much, and it only took me four years to convince her and my mom to get a dog. I’m good, Jensen,” Jared adds more seriously. “You wanted to understand. Now you do.”

Jensen looks at this too-tall guy who looks like a kid trapped in a giant’s body, whose smile is true and sincere, without anything held back. He’d been a scared little boy too, crying, hiding under his bed. Jensen’s most miserable moments in his childhood were when he was denied another cookie, or permission to get a tattoo at fifteen. Thank God for his mother’s determination not to let him get away with it, by the way, because he’d have to live with _The X-Files’_ catch phrase –The Truth is Out There- tattooed on his arm for the rest of his life.

He feels grateful suddenly, for everything.

“I’m gay,” he states.

Jared’s mouth drop opens. “I… I kind of figured that much out.”

“Are you? I think you are.”

“I… I am, yes,” Jared breathes, blushing a deep shade of red.

“So, I want to see you again. Take you some place to eat or have a beer. Not as friends.”

Jensen waits nervously, his fingers fidgeting on the wheel.

“Okay,” Jared finally says, lowering his head and smiling at the same time.

“Tomorrow night?”

“You’re serious.”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Might as well get out of the car with me then, so that you can meet my granny and Ginger.”

“Ginger?”

“My dog,” Jared reminds him. “Is it so hard to remember?”

“Ginger, your dog,” Jensen mimics.

“Come on, then.”

After a second of hesitation, Jensen follows Jared outside. It is still raining, but barely, and when a very enthusiastic cocker spaniel runs to him and make him slip on the wet grass, he just laughs. 

He hopes the dog will like him. He seems to be very important for Jared. By the way Ginger is licking his face intently, knocking off his glasses in the process, it’s a good start. 

What a strange day it had been, Jensen can’t help but think while Jared apologizes profusely for his dog’s behavior and his grandmother is running toward him with a clean towel. Maybe Rory really has found peace. Maybe the house will remain silent from now on, clean of the last echo of the tragedy that had happened there.

Something ended today, and something is starting. Jensen takes Jared’s huge hand and gets dragged back to his feet. Yeah, this is the beginning of something good.

Fin


End file.
